


Just This Once

by CharonDeLaPetiteMort



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 08:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17076884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharonDeLaPetiteMort/pseuds/CharonDeLaPetiteMort
Summary: You run into money troubles and decide that maybe, just this once, you could indulge in a fantasy and make some money at the same time.It does not go as you had imagined.





	Just This Once

You look yourself over in the bathroom mirror for what feels like the hundredth time, smoothing your favorite sheer nightgown against your body, seeing the hints of your sexiest underwear through the thin fabric. Part of you can't believe that you're actually in this hotel room, that you're actually going to go through with this. But a small part of you is excited about it. The decision to do this was not an easy one. Sure, the idea of this had crept into your fantasies from time to time, but as the bills piled up, and as your other options dwindled, this entered your mind more and more often, until you thought 'Maybe... maybe just this once...'.

And so you took a few pictures, cropped them carefully, and posted your ad. You were surprised by the number of responses, but one in particular stood out. He was direct in what he wanted and what he was willing to pay. And while you wanted to tell yourself it was the professional looking picture he sent and the straight-to-business way that he talked that interested you, you'd be lying if you tried to say the generous payment didn't also play a role in it.

You bite your lip and go sit on the bed, yet again, lost in your thoughts. In your head you've been rehearsing how you expected this to go: how you'd greet him, how you'd smile and giggle when he complimented how you looked, how things would get started...

... And then the disbelief returns and the nervousness rises. Taking your phone in hand, you think about sending a text to call the whole thing off... except you'd be out the cost of the hotel room with nothing to show for it. Still, maybe you can't actually do this. Maybe there is another way. But, just as you start to type, you hear the electronic lock to the door open.

In walks in a tall man, an older man, the one from the pictures. He's in a suit, but not the same one you had seen before. Without saying anything, and with only the briefest glance in your direction, he removes his coat and hangs it up in the closet. He then kneels down and unties his recently polished shoes and neatly places them by the closet door. Standing, he finally turns and looks at you, his eyes tracing your figure up and down.

Nervous and wanting to break the silence, you smile and say "Hi! It's nice to meet you Mr.-"

"You looked better in your pictures." He interrupts.

You hadn't been expecting that, and you barely manage to keep a straight face. "Um, I'm sorry that-"

"It's fine." He interrupts again. "Are you ready?" His voice speaks as if that was not a question.

You had been nervous before he showed up, but you're especially off put now with how he is acting. You glance down and try to figure out how you want to tell him that you're not sure about this when you see him toss a roll of bills on the nightstand. You take a deep breath. You know, deep down, how much this money would help with... well, _everything_.

Calming yourself, you turn to him, try to smile, and slowly close the distance between the two of you. Placing your hands on his chest, you softly purr "I'm ready if you are...". His eyes are still piercingly staring into your own as you lean up to kiss him.

His hand firmly takes hold of your chin. "I don't remember mentioning wanting to kiss you." His voice rings with irritation. "You're here to do what I want, not to get creative."

Letting go of your chin, he walks over to the chair in the corner and takes a seat. "Now that you understand, why don't you dance for me and show me what you can do with..." his eyes glance up and down you again "... well, _that_..."

It's only now that you realize you've reflexively crossed your arms in front of you, as if to hide and comfort yourself. Taking a deep breath, you realize that maybe this is just what you need, some time to clear your head and make yourself feel better, to recover the mood. You've always enjoyed dancing for your partners, even if you weren't sure you were actually good at it. And they've never complained before.

You think of your favorite song to dance to, the one you've practiced to in the mirror so many times, and you start to let your hips sway and your head bob, your eyes closing as you try to lose yourself in your headspace. Your breath steadies as you run your hands up and down your body and arch your back, a soft coo escaping from your throat. You turn around, tossing your hair with the motion, and run your hands between your thighs and down your legs, bending your waist at the hips, your confidence returning as you imagine how you must look to him now, positioned like this, dressed as your are.

Feeling better, you slowly rise up and roll your hips as you turn around again, stepping closer to him, your hands running over your midsection and across your chest. You're starting to remember your fantasies again, how turned on you would get late at night in your bed thinking about dancing just like this for a stranger. You can feel your body warming up, your nipples hardening under your bra, as you toss your head back and release a shallow breath.

Again you step and turn, swinging your hips in a slow circle, now right in front of him. You let out a soft gasp when you feel his hands run down the sides of your body and gently grasp at your hips. He pulls you down to his lap, and lost in your fantasies as you are, you immediately start rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him as you bite your lower lip. As you grind harder against him, you can feel him stiffening underneath you, especially when he flips your nightgown up, his hands running over your now bare hips and legs.

His hands run up your sides and reach around to cup your breasts, your face flushing as his fingers brush over the thin material covering your stiff nipples, another soft coo escaping your lips when you feel his hardness twitch underneath you. You toss your head back in a low moan when his hands clench at your chest and he pulls you downward as his hips rise, his bulge grinding hard against you as he releases a heavy breath against the back of your neck.

Suddenly, his hands reach up and grasp the neckline of your nightgown, and he yanks hard, the cloth tearing and the thin straps popping. Part of you is upset at the destruction of your favorite nightgown, but another part of you likes this, likes the energy developing between the two of you, and you shrug off the remnants of the sheer garment. In another sudden move, one of his hands gently, but firmly, grasps your chin and pulls your head back against him, while his other hand slides down your body, between your legs, and slowly strokes at your growing heat.

"Hmm, enjoying your work? How about you kneel down and put that mouth to its proper use?" he softly speaks, his mouth right next to your ear.

You let out a heavy, ragged breath when his hands give one last hard clench on your body before releasing you. Your mind is racing, but one thought manages to rise through the jumble: the condoms in the nightstand drawer. You begins to rise out of his lap when you feel his hands grab your hips and pull you back down onto him.

"And where are you going?" he growls behind you.

After a soft gasp, you reply, "I was... going to get the condoms..."

He almost snickers. "No one uses condoms for a blowjob. Now get on your knees..." His hands release your hips and he leans in close to your ear again, "... and stop _wasting my time_."

Maybe it's his tone, maybe it's you wanting to keep this moving, maybe it's the ache growing between your thighs, but you find yourself sliding out of his lap and on your knees in front of him. Starting to feel nervous again, you briefly glance up at him, and while he still has that hard stare you've been seeing, you can now see something else in his eyes: desire... _hunger_.

Looking away, you now find yourself staring at the bulge in front of you. You know what's expected of you. You can even picture it in your head, what you should be doing, how you imagined it happening. But now you find yourself hesitating, paralyzed in the moment, locked into your thoughts.

The sound of your client loudly clearing his throat snaps you back and you place your hand on his bulge almost reflexively, feeling it twitch slightly at your touch. You take a moment to run your fingers over it, tracing the outline of his hardness through his trousers, the heat of it seeping into your fingertips. You glance up again, his look of hunger again making you blush.

You reach up and undo his belt, fumbling with it less than you had expected. Slowly you bring down his zipper, and slide your fingers into the waist of his boxers. A slight raise of his hips lets you know what to do next, and you pull down his pants, his hard length now bare in front of you. Chewing on your lip, you wrap a hand around it, and it might just be the intensity of the moment but it just feels so _hot_ in your hand, almost burning.

A slow stroke it sends a rivulet of clear precum running down the head and over your thumb. You open your grip, holding him lightly, as you lean forward and almost nuzzle against the base of him, his masculine scent filling your senses. Your tongue slides from between your lips and up along the underside of him, trailing up from base to tip, the taste of skin, salt, and his desire filling you. You circle it around his head before you lean forward and let him slip between your lips and fill your mouth.

Closing your eyes, you begin to slowly bob your head back and forth, his tip sliding over your tongue, a twitch of him giving you a taste of fresh precum. Gripping him again, you also begin to stroke him in time with the motions of your head, your lips meeting your fist as he slides deeper into your mouth. Your rhythm increases and you quickly lose yourself in the act, indulging in his taste, his scent, the feel of him on your tongue.

Your eyes snap open and look up when you feel a hand tightly grip the hair on the back of your head.

"You can do better than that." His voice growls as he looks down at you.

His hand releases your hair and after a moment to take a deep breath and steady yourself, you get back to it with with even more effort than before. You've never had a partner complain about your performance in the past, and you now find yourself wondering if this man just likes to complain or if your lovers were being nice. You tighten your lips and try to sink him deeper into your mouth, turning and twisting your head like you've seen some porn stars do, for some reason not wanting to disappoint your client further. You grip him tighter, you take him faster, you take him _deeper_...

And then you find yourself coughing and sputtering as you gag, pulling off of him to recover. You vaguely hear an annoyed sigh come from the man, and just as you start to recover both of his hands are grasping at your hair.

"Fine... I'll do it."

He pulls your head back towards him, his tip slipping between your lips. And before long he is yanking your head along his length, sinking himself deep into your mouth. You're trying to catch your breath between his yanks and the thrusting of his hips, trying to suck in air around the flesh filling your mouth. It isn't long before you're sputtering and coughing again, saliva dripping from your chin and tears dripping from your eyes. You try to pull away, your hands pushing on his knees and legs, but as soon as you make any progress he is forcing you back down, until at one point he just pulls you all the way down, his length buried in your throat, your nose pressed against him. You can't even shout around him as you struggle to get free.

And then all at once he shoves you off of him and you land on the ground, your coughs sending thick, stringy droplets spattering across your chest and legs as you try to clear your airway and catch your breath.

Your client then stands, looking down at you past his now glistening erection, and gives another heavy sigh. "I guess that's good enough. Go get on the bed."

You don't move except to wipe the saliva from your mouth and the tears from your cheeks. You're still swallowing hard and catching your breath when you manage to get out "N-no! W-we're done here!"

You quickly take to your feet and start to head to the bathroom when you feel his hand close around your wrist. "Where do you think you're going? We are NOT done here."

You try to jerk your arm away, but his hand holds firm. "We ARE done. Let go of m-"

Your words are cut off when the back of his hand crashes into your face, the pain made more intense by how unexpected it was.

"We are done here when I say we are, whore." His eyes still have that hunger, but now they seem to cut even deeper than before.

After the shock has worn off you pull even harder to escape, a scream cut off when his hand wraps around your throat. Suddenly you find yourself against the wall, his hand tightly pinning you there by your neck. Still struggling, you kick ineffectively at him.

"Stop that right now and listen." He says firmly, but calmly.

But you continue to struggle.

Your eyes go wide and a groan forces its way past his clenched hand when his fist slams into your gut, knocking the wind out of you.

"I SAID to listen."

You can barely pull any air past his tight grip, your eyes tearing up again.

"Will you listen?" He asks calmly.

You struggle to nod in his tight grip, your lungs burning in your desperation for air. His hand releases your neck, letting you gasp for breath, but the reprieve is brief before he has hold of your hair again and yanks hard, pulling you off your already weakened knees to the floor. He twists his hand, forcing you to look up at him, when a slap rings out across your cheek.

"Listen here, and listen well. I'm not going to let my time be wasted by some lazy cunt."

Another backhand rocks your jaw, a copper taste begins to seep into your mouth.

"You agreed to fuck and suck for money, whore. That's why I'm here. That's why you're here."

He leans down and yanks you up higher, until you're face to face.

"Now take your clothes off... get on that bed... _spread your legs_... and make yourself fucking useful for once."

Again he throws you to the ground as he releases your hair, your head and neck aching from all the sudden movement, your face and jaw burning from the assault. As he is taking his shirt off, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and notice a faint red smear on it. Your mind is racing about what to do. Do you listen to him? Do you try to run? Do you fight him? Can you even fight him? Your emotions are a chaos of rage, disappointment, fear, and shame. You can feel the urge to cry welling up inside of you and you barely manage to hold back the sobs, even in your distraught state not wanting to give him that satisfaction.

"What the _fuck_ are you waiting for?" His voice lashes out.

A plan emerges from your scattered thoughts. Not a complex plan, not even a good plan, but the only one you can muster at the moment. You stand, avoiding meeting his gaze, slowly remove your bra, and place it on the nightstand. Next you slide your panties down, and lift each leg out of them, one at a time. It hadn't been that much material covering you, but without it, now bare, you feel so cold and exposed, your breath ragged as a shiver runs up your spine. Taking a deep breath, you go to place your panties with your bra.

And in a flash you have sent everything on the nightstand hurling towards the man as you make a dash for it. His hand goes up to shield himself from the thing flying at him as you try to dodge around him and head for the door. For the briefest moment, your spirits rise.

And then there is a sudden hard and sharp pain in your scalp and as he snatches your hair, your feet sliding out from under you sending you crashing to the ground on your back, the thud of your impact reverberating through you. Standing over you, he shakes his hand to free it of the hair ripped straight from your scalp.

His face in a scowl, he places a foot on your throat and leans his weight forward. "You had one job. One job so simple that even _you_ should have been able to do it."

The weight of him on your throat not only keeps you from breathing but the pain feels like he is going to crush your windpipe right there on the floor of that hotel room. You try to scream but only faint gurgles escape your throat. You try to struggle, but you're just so sore and tired, and it hurts so much.

"You're lucky you have that cunt between your legs. Without it you'd be _less than worthless_."

Your vision starts to fade, everything going dark, but so does almost everything else: the ache in your limbs, the cold of the floor, the pain in your neck. There is just the growing numbness and the burning in your lungs.

And then even that fades away.

...

You feel a dull pain everywhere, and a sense of movement and pressure. Your body feels hot, almost like it is burning, but nothing burns as badly as your throat. Your eyes open to see your client looming over you, a tinge of sweat on his forehead.

Slowly, your foggy head starts to clear and you can make sense of everything that you're feeling, the soft sheets on your back, the rocking of your body in the bed, but more than anything, the slow rhythm of his hips thrusting into you, his stiffness opening you up as his heat burns its way deep inside of you. Your head lolls about as you try to focus your vision, seeing his taught arms on both sides of you, before glancing down to see him slide into you, scarcely believing that this is really happening.

Your eyes go wide, a cough breaking out when you try to speak. Your aching throat barely manages to rasp out "S-stop. P-please..."

Without hesitation, he grunts "Not until I'm done, whore."

Your throat feels swollen. It's hard to breathe, much less talk. You feel weak. Helpless. Angry. At him and at yourself. You feel naive. Foolish. Violated.

You glance up at him, seeing a brief moment of pleasure flash across his face as he softly moans, leaving himself buried in you as he grinds his hips. Seeing that look on his face while you lay there at his mercy sends a crash of emotions through you, a surge of adrenaline that you didn't think you had in you. In a sudden burst of strength you squirm and try to kick him off.

Your vision flashes white, and then blurry, when his fist strikes you hard and cleanly in the eye. And just as quickly as it came, your strength is gone, and it feels like it will never return. Your head rolls back and you stare at the ceiling, a blur of dingy whiteness the only thing your eyes register, and even that just barely. But what you can't tune out is the feeling of him inside you, of the weight of him parting your hips, his body grinding yours into the mattress, the sound when his flesh meets yours, the squeak of the bed as it rocks, his heavy breathing.

You lay there, still and quiet, as he leans forward, his body pinning even more of you to the bed as his thrusts come quicker and harder, each one sending your body rocking, your breasts bouncing. His grunts are getting louder with his increased effort, and you feel a drop of sweat land on your cheek, but you don't even want to move to wipe it away. You just want him to be done, you just want this to be over, you want to be anywhere but here.

When he thrusts he also grinds, as if trying to be as deep inside you as possible, to violate you as thoroughly as he can. And you get a sinking feeling in your stomach when you realize how hot your body feels and how easily he is sliding in and out of you. You're too emotionally exhausted to sob, but the dampness on your cheeks makes you realize that you're crying silently. You feel his length twitch inside of you and a wave of revulsion hits you when you feel your own thighs clench in response.

It seems like all of this lasts for hours, like maybe you did die and this is your afterlife, feeling your client, this man, violate you forever, even your own body betraying you, all as some kind of punishment for thinking it would be ok to do something like this, even just this once.

And just as you begin to resign yourself to an eternity of this, the man's grunts grow louder as his thrusts become quicker, harder, more wild. And then there is one, final, deep thrust, and he lets out a long, low moan as you feel him spasm and throb inside of you, his hips grinding ever so slightly to make sure he does this as long as possible, your own body clenching and squeezing at him for more. A feeling of fullness and warmth begins to spread through your abdomen, and it sends a fit of nausea rolling in your stomach.

The man lays there, breathing heavily and occasionally twitching in the aftershocks of his pleasure, slowly softening inside you until you feel him slip free and a warm wetness start to drip from you to the sheets. After a moment of resting the man stands by the bed and wipes the sweat from his brow. He looks around a bit, before taking your panties and using them to clean himself off.

You can hear him moving on the other side of the room, putting his clothes back on. You take a long, deep breath that emerges from you soft and ragged, feelings starting to come back to you, feelings of disgust and hatred, for yourself as much as for him. Again, you can feel the urge to sob welling within you, but you don't want to give him that satisfaction.

_He's gotten enough of that already._

You focus as best you can on just moving, on doing something other than curling up and crying. All of your muscles hurt, but you manage to sit up in the bed, your body feeling extra heavy to you in the moment. Your tear streaked face looks up to see the man, your client, as he puts his jacket back on.

He glances in your direction and says "Ahh, right, I nearly forgot."

He walks back towards you, a chill running up your spine at his approach. He takes the money off the nightstand and steps towards you. You glance at it and then at him, face expressionless.

His free hand grabs your hair again and pulls your head back, as he shoves the money in your now open mouth. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and holds it in front of you.

"Proof of payment." He says mockingly as the shutter sound echoes through the room.

He releases your hair and you just watch as he turns to leave, walks to the door, opens it, and steps outside, all without ever looking back at you.

You reach up and pull the bills from your mouth with one hand while the other gently inspects the ache between your legs. Briefly, you examine the mess made of your body, your hands, your new money, and then collapse back into the bed. You should call in and tell work that you won't be coming in tomorrow, but you don't want to talk or see anyone right now. You just want to be alone.

You've never no call, no showed at work before, but maybe it'll be ok just this once.


End file.
